


Wish Upon a Twinkling Star

by bluemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cursed, Enchantments, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Love, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Star-crossed, tissues needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cygnus will do anything to get his wife back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish Upon a Twinkling Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



> QWATZL.

Cygnus Black did not believe in the gods of old, the spirit of Merlin watching over all those with magic in their blood. He was not even sure that Merlin had truly ever existed, that he had ever been anything more than a story told to young children just before they went to sleep, to keep their dreams alive and their sins buried. _Do what you're told and old Merlin will make sure you get your Hogwarts letter on time; wish upon a twinkling star and all the great Blacks who have died before your birth will smile upon you._

But he didn't believe in it. Though he had walked in sunlight there had always been shadows on his trail, clouds in his eyes and a cold hand upon his shoulder. Too much strife...too many bad days. Though he had once been a pious man, Cygnus believed in nothing. In a world of dragons and talismans, spellwork and potions and men vanishing into smoke...Merlin just seemed too fantastical to believe in. 

It was not as though he hadn't been blessed, but to think of his greatest treasure as a gift from above was to cheapen its meaning, to belittle a spirit of true fire and flame, the greatest power he had ever been witness to, the greatest magic he had ever held in the palm of his hand. Whosoever had created the mind and body of Druella Rosier was a thing greater than childhood fairy tales could ever hope to explain. 

Dark brown leaves swirled past Cygnus' eyes, carried on a crisp autumn breeze, making their final journey to the earth, to lay upon that broken ground, their final resting place. He stood with his cloak pulled tight about his body, chasing morbid thoughts around inside his brain, distant tattered phrases tossed about within him mirroring the leaves without. To stand alone in this world, he had no more hope than one of these dead pieces of plant matter, shredded and dark and left to decay. He would not stand alone in these woods. 

He would crush the very stones of the earth within his hands, would pull Merlin himself from the sky, should he truly exist. Cygnus would bleed, and every drop spilled would only make him stronger, would give him further life. He would push himself to the top of the highest mountain and fling his weary body into the volcano, should he desire the fires within. Whatever it took, whatever he needed, Cygnus would have it.

He would bring his wife back to him again.

**

She lay beside him with her arm draped across his chest, her warm body tucked perfectly beneath his shoulder, their forms pressed together as her fingers traced patterns on his skin. Cygnus could feel her breath feather-light upon his neck, and the beat of her heart was a lullaby to him. He let his eyes drift closed, let his brain waves free, let his muscles soften and his life force shift into the in between, the world that lay just beyond the waking and yet not quite into sleep. Only here could he feel fully at peace, could he feel as though they were truly one, one body and one soul fused together in an endless circle. They breathed in unison.

" _Mon coeur_ ," Ella murmured, pulling him gently back towards and yet away from her, waking him so that he was inside his own body again, heavy and tangible and no longer that free-floating spirit. Cygnus opened his eyes; he looked upon her. She stared straight ahead, into the darkness. "Time slips away from us." Her voice was a lonely whisper.

He could not speak his feelings, only grunted, pulled her closer as though it were possible, clung to her and squeezed her fiercely in his embrace. Time was a curse word, a jinx more painful than any which could spring from the tip of a wand. They would not think about time.

Cygnus could not speak; he could only listen to the sound of her breathing, the hitch of her tears. When she cried it was a great abyss yawning and Cygnus was falling into it, tumbling without the space to breathe at all, without the strength to stop the spinning. When she cried it was the death of hope.

**

The ceremony was brief, Druella dry-eyed and yet weighed down with her sadness, her hands gripping hold of Cygnus as though to release him would set her adrift. She could barely look at him, pupils dancing around the room, her body shaking as he held her, as he carefully kissed each side of her face. "I love you," he said, and each word was a poem, a litany of memories and feelings, promises. How often had he spoken those words in that order? It would never be enough.

They had rushed the preparations, wanting it to be done as soon as possible, wanting to be bound by more than just their emotions, their souls. They needed the magic to be seen by others, too, outsiders standing so far away, unable to feel the burning strength of their connection without being tied into the circle. There was no room inside their circle for anyone other.

They had rushed the preparations and Cygnus could pretend it was merely for the intensity of their love, though underneath the whitewashed walls of optimism lay the dark stained truth of their intentions. Ella would want to be able to stand up straight for her wedding day, would wish to breathe as much air into her lungs as possible, would wish to speak loudly enough for the world to hear her call.

Cygnus could already see the change beginning in her. Where she had once stood tall now there was the merest hint of a slouch, her spine starting to curl inward where it was no longer strong enough to hold up her body. Ella's soft slender body, all the secret places Cygnus had placed his lips and fingertips, the skin pulled tight over fragile bones as the muscle shrunk and shriveled. She had been beautiful her entire life and she would always be beautiful to him, no matter how far the sickness took her form.

The sickness was a word unspoken, a certainty ignored as though it would stop the sun from rising as night passed into day once more. They had spent so many months hoping, ignoring the facts of history as they ran through the fields, as they shared tender kisses under flowering trees, dipping their toes into the river and laughing, always laughing. They had ignored their own future and now it was coming to claim them.

Love was a foolish word, meaning nothing, being altogether too small to encompass the pain which squeezed the life from Cygnus' heart whenever he looked at or even thought about his Ella. But it was all he had. "I love you," he said, and it said everything because it had to, because it was all he had.

He had not heard the cure yet, had not yet gleaned the glimmer of truth behind the fountain. He had not pulled the letters from the stars and rearranged them into magic spells, spells which would wash away the splinters and leave his wife whole and white, healthy and young and laughing again. But he would get there.

They said their vows and Cygnus tried to remember, tried to hold onto the memory of his lips forming syllables, his fingers clasped with hers as they stood before their families, one side of the hall noticably fuller than the other, both sides crying tears as they beheld the union of two more suitable soulmates than any who had ever before been arranged to marry. Cygnus tried to make that moment last a lifetime. It did not.

He had, however, a scrap of vivid recollection. It was their dance, in a glittering ballroom, spinning across a freshly waxed floor with miniature flower petals raining slowly down upon their shoulders. He would have the feel of her in that moment locked in the cells of his skin forever, her warmth and the vitality of her youth pressed against him. " _Mon coeur_ ," she whispered, and Cygnus kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers, and still it burned him, and would burn him for all time, even long after she had gone.

Cygnus did not believe in old gods living amongst the stars, but if anyone could get there, it would be he and she, Cygnus and Druella. Even then they would be together.

**

"Well, there's just no knowing, how it all began," the old wizard spoke, his voice like broken glass and his eyes hardly lifelike at all, dull and unfocused. "None have uncovered the source of it yet. But there is a story."

There were stories for everything and Cygnus had once believed them, had once sat with his eyes wide and his heart racing as old Grandmother read from the wrinkled pages of her books, Babbity Rabbity cackling from her stump and Merlin creating the most fantastical spells. Wizards slew dragons and Witches beat death, and yet no Rosier woman had ever lived past the age of thirty-three, each of them wasting away until there was nothing left, pale white corpses shivering their final breaths away while their husbands were off at war, unfeeling and uncaring, as they had all grown so used to death. Even Cygnus.

But he would die before he let her go, his beloved, his soulmate, his heart. If ever there were a man to break the curse, it would be he, he of such strong spirit and valiant soul, he who loved more than any man had ever loved, he who found himself faced with the unquestionable fact that Druella had been created specifically for him, to fit against him like magnets, like puzzle pieces, two halves of a completed whole, the unending circle. He would die.

As with most stories, this one stretched far away in one's imagination, required all disbelief to be shoved into a box and hidden in the darkest corner of one's mind. It involved the lair of a dragon and a silver lake that could only be found by those with the purest of hearts. Cygnus dismissed it as a flight of fancy, the fever dream of a madman who had once been desperate to save a woman he loved. She had died, all those long years ago, and they had been dying ever since.

"I do not know," said the wizard, musing over the yellowed maps, one long crooked finger resting upon a sketch of an enchanted forest. "None have gone in and survived to tell the tale. None since the first."

And yet the first had failed to save the lot of them. How could Cygnus place faith in such a thing?

He went home to his wife and watched her shiver in her bed, even with the warmest of wool blankets curled around her withering body. Cygnus watched her dying and he struggled to believe.

**

He left without fanfare, without packing, without plans. If he were to do this he would have to be quick, and there would be no time for preparations. He would say goodbye to Ella because if he did not and she should – he would say goodbye to Ella. She would refuse to allow him to make sacrifices for her, but Cygnus was as stubborn as she when he put his mind to something.

"It is only a story," she said sharply, sitting up in her bed and looking just exactly as she always had, full of spirit and sharp admonishments, her voice commanding and yet sweet. "Please, Cygnus. Don't waste this."

She was only twenty-eight years old and it was already beginning; Cygnus would only be wasteful if he did not try, if he did nothing.

"If I do nothing, and there were a way? How could I live with myself?" he demanded.

"And if I am not here when you return, how can you live with yourself then," she responded.

"I will be here."

Cygnus could make promises and he would make vows, would bind himself to her so that he would know it immediately should she have dire need of him by her side, and still it could not shut out the inevitable, still it could not fully prevent the possibility that she would die and he would miss it, he would not be the last thing she looked upon before closing her eyes and it would haunt him for the rest of his days, few as they may be in his grief.

Still he went. Still he went, left with a great fury in his heart and a burning determination which shook the ground beneath his steps. What sort of a world would bring him Druella only to take her away from him again so quickly, what sort of a world? Cygnus had not lived a single day without her, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as his own will could make it so. He would break the Rosier curse and he would find the source of all these dark shadows, would dissipate them with the force of his need, his rage unending, his passion for his beloved keeping him strong, keeping him alive with hope even when he found it impossible to believe.

Still he went, and watched the leaves tumble to the ground, dead and crumpled, a symbol of what lay waiting for him should he come home empty-handed.

**

Off he ventured into a dark wood, filled with broken trees and trickling streams of dirty water. The shadows were long and dark, but Cygnus walked through them, humming under his breath in a vain attempt to keep the sadness and worry at bay. By nightfall he had marked off his progress on a makeshift map he'd conjured, adding jagged lines with his quill, the parchment pressed up against the rough bark of a tree. He had only a vague idea of his surroundings, of where he needed to be, but it was better than nothing. As a child he had often ventured into the wilderness, his days full of hiking and camping by firelight. His family had allowed him his freedom, as Cygnus was the youngest child of many, and therefore left to his own devices whilst his elders squabbled over marriage arrangements and the doling out of the Black fortune.

Cygnus would lay upon his bed of leaves and draw circles in the air with his wand, the holy light swirling as he carved a portal into space, as he used his innermost yearnings to bring his Ella to his side. She would appear briefly before him, vague and foggy, a mere outline of her true self. But she would appear, and they would speak to one another, promises of their reunion, declarations of undying love, dreams of their certain future and all the children they would have together. "None of them girls," Druella would say, her meaning silent but clear, and Cygnus would shake his head.

"All of them girls, if it should be so," he would tell her. For he was bringing the cure back with him, and they would live, all of them would live such long and healthy lives. 

Besides, they would carry the name of Black, not Rosier. But Cygnus would keep that thought to himself. It was unnecessary.

They would blow kisses to one another before they parted again, Ella's eyes drifting closed as she surrendered to sleep, her fatigue growing by the day. Cygnus hated to let her go, hated to see that light fade away into the darkness, hated to be left alone with nothing but the sounds of the forest to accompany him into his own tortured sleep. 

He would dream of her then, and some of his dreams would be most wondrous, a healthy Druella showering him in so much passionate love. Others were nightmares. Cygnus would not speak of nightmares.

**

Two roads stretched away before him, each one jagged and dark, each one hidden from sight as they ventured around dark tree stumps. Cygnus waited, stood before the juncture with his heart thundering inside his chest. They had told him it would be difficult, that he would be forever lost, that he might never find his way out of that dark forest. So far he had encountered nothing but darkness and winding pathways that led nowhere. But he was continuing on his way. He had no other choice but to go forward, to push through and hope that his magic would be strong enough to guide him.

One road lay with roots emerging from the earth, with the cackling of distant crows overhead. The other sounded of rushing waters, bubbling brooks with the croaking of frogs underneath. Cygnus hesitated. Which way would bring him to his destination? He tried a Point Me spell, but it told him nothing. Both ways led north, both ways might bring him forward. Cygnus frowned.

He was too young and foolish for this. He knew this and yet he told himself that knowing this meant it was not true. Would a truly foolish man be able to so acknowledge his own ineptitude? 

He set off along the rooted path, being drawn more to earth than water. He could only hope the magic felt the same. But he had nothing else to decide upon, and so he went. The birds called to him as he made his way, climbing over the most enormous tree roots he had ever seen. Cygnus looked up to them and tried to stop himself from praying, for prayers were a thing he no longer believed in. It was nothing but his own valiant effort which would grant him what he wanted. 

He already had his wand ready when the attack began. As one unit the crows swooped down upon him, a murderous murder descending from the sky. Cygnus's heart jolted but he was ready, throwing stunners at the birds even as they lit upon his head and shoulders. Sharp beaks and talons in a flurry of pain, pinpricks all along his skin. Cygnus would not panic; he would not give in; he would battle through the troops in order to gain entry to the path beyond. He fired magic upon them and focused on his vision of Druella, his beloved, waiting weakly for her husband to return to her. He would not fall here.

Stunned crows dropped to the ground and Cygnus found himself standing in the midst of a circle of them, breathing heavily and bleeding. He would not stop to ponder, to heal, to recover; he rushed along. It was not until he was some distance away that the true extent of his wounds became clear to him. He had left a trail of blood in his wake.

Cygnus collapsed beneath a tree and took a phial out of his rucksack. Ella had slaved over a cauldron for him for days before his journey, forcing herself through the pain in order to provide him with all the potions he might need along the way. She had always been much better in Potions class than he, whilst Cygnus had excelled at Charms and Transfiguration. As he applied Murtlap Essence to his wounds, he felt that she was with him still, that he had his wife's own essence bottled up in little glass phials. He felt her love healing him.

Were the birds a warning or a blessing? Had he chosen the correct path, or were they meant to turn him back to the waters? Cygnus did not know and did not care. He would not go back. Options were meaningless to him in his current state. He would walk forward and it would have to lead him to where he needed to be. If not they were all doomed. But he would go on.

Wounds closed up before his eyes, leaving a soothing feeling in their wake. Cygnus siphoned away the remaining blood stains, watching his own skin reveal itself beneath. Several of the cuts had been deep; he would be left with scars. Battle scars. He nearly laughed to himself. As though a group of birds were going to stop him.

There would forever be a stain upon that chosen tree, a mark of the warrior who had passed beneath its branches, who had bled upon its skin. Cygnus would be remembered by the forest even long after he had left it, whether by death or victory. Either way he would be sung about, in the voices of the trees.

**

Cygnus walked upon thorns and bled from his feet, was shot at by Erkling darts and chased by Red Caps. He tread across muddy waters and circled enormous trees, found himself back where he'd started and began walking again. The enchanted forest was a labyrinth, full of traps and tricks, and Cygnus trekked on, continued, dreamed of Ella and walked.

Without her beside him he was covered in shadows; without her touch he was destitute. His mind and body ached for her, filled him with a great yawning abyss from which there was no escape. The brief moments he contacted her grew less and less clear, as distance and dark magic separated them. Cygnus was overcome with loneliness. And yet he walked.

In the midst of a sudden clearing lay a house, a tiny wooden cottage that looked as though it might fall apart with nothing but the merest look. Cygnus hesitated to approach, his mind whirling with tales, stories of witches who ate children and goblins who would rob him and leave him for dead. But where did fairytales come from? Mothers and fathers who meant solely to frighten their children. 

He hesitated still, logic telling him that this house was not there for his convenience. Either some formidable stranger lived within, or it was another trap, something to magically hinder him from completing his journey. Either way, this was not a house that Cygnus should enter. 

And yet it called to him. Something tugged upon his heart, something filled him with warmth and the longing for home. The house had some sort of magic charm placed upon it, and despite knowing that it was most likely a sign of darkness and trickery, Cygnus drew ever closer. He placed a hand against the side of the house; the wooden planks were warmed by the sun, warm and smooth and welcoming. Cygnus frowned.

There was no door, just an opening cut into the side of the little hut, and Cygnus slipped over towards it slowly. He was both eager and yet apprehensive, for he knew not what he might see should he peer into that opening, or by whom might he be seen. Still it called to him.

Cygnus looked into the home with his wand drawn, ready to strike, but there were no living beings to be seen within. Instead Cygnus was met with the sight of a small wooden table and chair; upon the table was a small red bowl and several small phials. He inhaled slowly, bracing himself, then stepped inside.

He expected that some sort of person or monster would leap upon him the moment he set a foot into the house, but there was nothing, nothing but ringing silence and the invisible urge to keep going, to venture farther, to approach the table. Cygnus obeyed without hesitation now, feeling braver the longer he went with no attackers. The table held several glittering potions, all of different colors and sizes. Cygnus felt his heart begin to race. Could this be the end of his journey? Had he discovered, amongst these innocent-looking bottles, the cure to his beloved's curse?

There was no sign. There was no way of knowing, no way to see what might happen should he take these potions with him, should he feed them to his wife. No way...but Ella was a potions expert. She would know. She would know, and she would drink them if they might cure her.

Cygnus reached a hand out towards the potions and was immediately held back by some invisible force, stilling his fingers and sending a wave of prickly reluctance up his arm, goosebumps rising on his skin. He gasped, took a step back and looked away from the table. He should run...he should leave this mysterious place. 

His body was overcome with a feverish heat, stinging nettles from head to toe, causing him to shrink back and shiver, to drop his outstretched hand and turn away from the table, the table which might perhaps hold his salvation. No, he could not give in, he could not allow Dark magic to force his hand, to stay his fingers. He reached out, stretched farther....

Cool glass met his fingertips and he clapsed the phial tightly, pulled it towards him and slipped it quickly into his rucksack, before it could release its fever upon him again. Cygnus took them all, took every bottle which sat upon that table. He did not care what it might do to him; he did not even care if he were stealing from the poorest man in the world. Everything was for Druella.

**

They weighed him down. Even as he trudged onward, even as he fought to survive and go on, fight through the forests and the darkness, they weighed him down. Cygnus could feel every pound upon his back, every day of his years in the space between his steps.

He was so close now and he could taste it, could feel it in the wind, the rising humidity and the smell of water in the air. He had never believed, he had never truly imagined...and yet he'd had to, because the alternative was too horrific to comprehend, was too impossible to concede to. Cygnus had walked every mile with Ella by his side, and though he walked alone through the forests now, he would not walk without her. 

He was close. As Cygnus crested the next hill he could see the low stone wall with the moss-covered cracks, the winding pathway beyond and the crumbling fountain at the edge of the tree line, on the other side of the clearing. It was smaller than he would have thought. But then, how else should an enchanted fountain look? The most magical things always appeared the most benign.

Soft grass lay beneath his feet; Cygnus's shoes had begun to wear themselves thin throughout his journey, so that he was able to feel the slightly damp plant matter with every step. As he walked down the hill he imagined that he would not make it, that he would stumble and roll down to the fountain, losing himself before he would ever be able to taste the water within. Healing waters, they said. Cygnus felt thirsty.

He was sweating, and his muscles ached as he walked, each movement an agony. Beyond the wall the fountain beckoned and he forced himself onward, basking in the coolness of the air and the faint touch of magic swirling within. In the sky, the sun was just thinking about setting, the clouds cast in shadows above. Dancing pixies giggled in the bushes; crickets chirped and birds sang overhead. The world was in harmony, here in this atmosphere of magic, of victory. They were cheering him onward.

Cygnus dropped his bag to the ground with a thump. It had grown so heavy, and the potions within were boiling hot, trembling in their rage. Tearing the rucksack open, he thrust his hand inside and clasped one of the vials firmly, wincing at the pain it gave his skin at first contact. The liquid inside was roiling, tossing like the ocean during a violent rainstorm. Cygnus chucked the bottle as far away from him as he could. It had not been wise to take them.

Now that he was so close, now that he could see the fountain, he did not think about potions, about monsters and talismans and charms. Cygnus could think only of the one story, the tale above all tales, the story which made all his childhood dreams fade away into nothingness. The fountain would end the Rosier curse. It would cure Druella.

One man had come. In all the years of storytelling, only one man had come. Cygnus Black, who was strong with the power of his love, who was brave with the fire of his desires. Only he had made it to the end, and only he would come back to tell the tale. Only he would save her. He would pour the waters over his beloved, and she would gain her strength back again, would embrace her heart and soul, the two of them vowing to remain together always, in much health. And the nightmare would be over at last.

Dark, crooked stones met his gaze as he approached, as he hit the wall with his weathered hands. It was upon him, it was so close, and yet Cygnus felt so hot and tired that he could barely go on. His vision swam, the fountain shimmering before him in a hazy shaft of light. To climb the wall, even after all he had been through, seemed suddenly impossible. He did not know if it were yet another magical trap or merely his own mind playing games with him, but the wall began to grow before his eyes, seemed to become insurmountable even as he lay his hands upon the tops of the stones, even as he lifted himself slowly up along the side.

Thorns seemed to dig into his skin, as a fresh wave of sweat broke out over his forehead. Still Cygnus forced himself onward, still he thrust himself onto and over the wall, landing hard on his back in the grass. His rucksack was lost to him, left behind on the other side, halfway down the hill with its contents spilling out, broken potions bottles burning holes into the ground. Cygnus did not care, thought nothing of leaving his books and his healing kit behind. He lay in the grass, staring up into the sky, feeling the fatigue and the heat boring into his pores and locking his muscles up tight. But he had to move; he was so close.

A haziness hung over the scene, invisible and yet tangible somehow just the same, like walking into the midst of the most humid jungle, or into a sauna. Cygnus closed his eyes, rolled over and began to crawl, inching his way closer to the fountain with all the strength he had. Ghosts of past memories crowded into his mind, demons and monsters and bats flying around his head as somewhere beyond even that, Ella lingered, calling to him, her skin as pale as death and her voice quiet. "Cygnus?"

He groaned, struggled to move, crawled on his stomach in the dirt, smearing his clothing with crushed grass and muddy dirt and not caring at all. The air grew hotter still, the barriers unable to be seen and yet choking him all the same. Visions of death swam before him, the reaper reaching for his hand. But no, no, he would not take them, he would not take Druella! Cygnus would gladly have died for his wife, his beloved, his only reason for living, but he would be damned if he did not reach that fountain first.

If only he could obtain a handful of those waters, glistening from so very far away. Cygnus could transport them, send them spiraling into the abyss attached to a Portkey, which he would illegally create right there in the dirt, send them straight to Druella, so that she might drink. Whether or not Cygnus made it back with it, she would drink. She had to. 

He was finding it difficult to think. Ella...she would not drink if he were not there to feed it to her, would never want to live if he did not...but she had to. He had gone all this way, he had sacrificed everything for her...she had to. If only he could move those last few inches, if only he could fight away these final dark obstacles to reach the end of the journey, to reach salvation. They had not made it easy. But then curses seldom did.

Thick vines curled around his ankles, and Cygnus felt the sudden urge to look beyond the fountain, where the skeletons of past travelers lay. So...he was not the only one who had made it this far, after all. But where few had come, none had gone back again. Cygnus's throat closed up; he swallowed hard.

He was so young...he looked down at his hands, blistered and dirty from all he had done, cutting through tree branches and strangling murderous beasts. And yet the underside of his arms were pure still, smooth and unblemished, unwrinkled. It seemed strange to him, as though he should have aged a hundred years in this forest. Ella...when had he last spoken to her? Perhaps she was already gone...perhaps he ought to surrender here, where none could leave, lay himself down beside the dead and lose his spirit to the hot wastes.

No. No. Cygnus would fight on, he would not give in to this darkness. Surely Ella lived, surely...she had a warrior's spirit. She would not let go as easily as her mother, her grandmother...she would live on, until Cygnus came home again. He would come home again.

He crawled onward, pushing through fear and agony and twisted thoughts that did not make sense, thoughts of flinging himself into the fountain where he could drown in those cold waters, where he could be free of this incessant heat. If only...words drifted into silence. Cygnus crawled on.

He was blind, blind to the world around him, his eyes shut tight to block out the harrowing images playing out before him. He felt damp grass between his fingers and the clinging of dirty robes to his skin. Shadows passed overhead and he dared not look, following only the faint trickle of cool air, the scent of fresh water ahead. Cygnus crawled until he reached it, touched the stones again, heard water rushing in the distance and knew that he was there. He'd made it to the fountain.

He had never believed in fairy tales and yet he was clinging to this one as though it were everything, as though he had grown up knowing he would one day be here in this sacred place. _Wish upon a twinkling star...._ They would live forever, Cygnus and Druella, forever intertwined in the night sky, their stars burning bright beside one another in their desperate love for one another. If he could touch her forever, hold her in his arms and not be constantly worried that one of them would break...

Strong hands came from nowhere, pushed down hard on Cygnus's shoulders, forbidding him to rise, but he fought them. Though he could not see he fought them, his body writhing as he struggled to pull himself up, to reach the waters of the fountain. He would drink, and he would no longer be so overheated. He would drink, and he would share the magic with his beloved. Ella....he could nearly feel her now, her familiar scent, the devotion of her kiss upon his forehead...he would fight.

Dizziness, nausea, and that overpowering heat...Cygnus fought them all, blasted the dark spirits away, pulled himself up over the edge and let his fingers dip into the fountain, let himself touch the water there and be healed of all this misery....

He felt it. Cygnus felt cold water running over his hands and a sweeping, delirious relief overcame him all at once. He'd made it. It was real, and he'd made it. They would live, they would live still, they would break the curse and be together...he'd made it. Cygnus collapsed against the stone base, let himself slip halfway into the water and closed his eyes again, soothed by the magic of its healing. He'd made it. They were going to be okay....

Life was nothing but one long fairytale, and Cygnus had come to the end of it. He closed his eyes. He had never felt so weak in his entire life, but he'd made it...he'd made it. The relief was too much to bear; he slipped away, drifting into unconsciousness, unable to move, unable to gather the water for his beloved. But he had made it, and surely there was plenty of time now, now that he had won, now that he had bested every obstacle in his way. He had done it all for Ella, to cure his Ella...she wouldn't be ill any longer. She would not be ill....

Cygnus slipped away.

**

" _Mon Coeur...._ " Druella dipped the handtowel into her basin of water, charmed to stay at the perfect cool temperature. She pressed the cloth to Cygnus's forehead. "Come back to me."

"Any change?" The sudden voice of her daughter startled her, and Ella looked up quickly, her tensed muscles relaxing slightly at the sight of Andromeda in the doorway. What a treasure her little princess had been, so eager to help, so devoted to her father's recovery...Druella sighed.

"No," she said softly, her voice hoarse from disuse; she had barely spoken since the fever set in. "There is nothing."

Cygnus had fallen ill so suddenly; it seemed as though they had gone to bed one evening in the middle of a perfect life, only to awaken in one of the circles of hell itself. He had woken with such a strong and powerful fever, had lost himself to frenzied half-dreams and hallucinations so strange...it worried Ella greatly.

They had lived a nearly flawless life together, a fairytale existence. Bonded since birth, the closest of companions from childhood, best friends at Hogwarts and a perfect blossoming romance, as sweet as any ever told and more beautiful. They were made for one another, and they had married in such happiness, twirling about in the ballroom with such ecstatic smiles upon their faces. Ella would never forget the feel of his embrace on their wedding night, amongst the floating flower petals. Had any couple ever been so happy? She could not imagine it.

Marriage, settling in together, living side by side as though they always had, raising beautiful little girls with so much love and happiness...how could it ever go wrong? How could any bad day cast a shadow upon them, how could any war tear them asunder? Nothing, nothing had ever stood in the way of the Blacks, and it never would. Certainly not a common fever could take Cygnus away from her.

He had been asking for water nearly constantly, moaning as he begged it of her, struggling to rise from the bed even as Ella put her hands upon his shoulders. He was too weak, he would never make it down the stairs...it was for his best interest that she keep him to his bed. But Cygnus could not seem to understand, could not even see her when he looked out upon his bedroom, eyes wild and glassy as he took it all in, seeing nothing.

Ella mopped his forehead with the cloth, tried her best to cool down his endless heat, to soothe the layers of hot sweat plastering his blankets to his skin. There had to be something that could cure him, something that would succeed where magic had not. Cygnus had shattered all her potions, every healing solution she could brew up in her home. Ella had always been a master of potions making. Yet none had worked.

Would he simply burn away until there was nothing left? Would this endless fever eat away upon his mind, once so strong, now withering away bit by bit? Would he never hold her again, never look into her eyes with such passionate devotion? Ella did not know; she couldn't bear to think about it.

Her daughters hovered nearby, close and yet so very far away, the lot of them feeling helpless and frightened. How could Ella comfort them, when she was so racked with the same terrors? She touched Andromeda's hand, squeezed her fingers, and said nothing. She knew not what to say.

Cygnus's eyes fluttered and he lifted slightly from the bed, his hands reaching for some unknown, some invisible destination that only he could see. Cygnus lifted, and a smile flickered across his face, weak and yet so happy, so bright. Ella's heart leaped into her throat; perhaps he was coming out of it at last.

But no. A fresh shine of sweat coated Cygnus's skin; his eyes rolled back and his body trembled. Though he smiled and murmured his beloved's name, he was fading, drifting away before her eyes. Ella reached for him, reached to hold him, to pull him back, to bring him back to her. She would do anything to bring her husband back, if only she knew how...

But Ella had never heard any stories about magical healing fountains, about enchanted woods. Such things were the flight of fancies, fairytales and bedtime stories. There were no twinkling stars above to wish upon now. 

Cygnus closed his eyes, collapsing into the sheets, and Ella felt the tears begin again.


End file.
